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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29576319">smells like teen angst</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuglychan/pseuds/fuglychan'>fuglychan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>check on your friends [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Family Feels, Gen, Hurt TommyInnit, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Wilbur Soot, Sick Tommyinnit, Sickfic, TRIGGER WARNING vomiting and depressing thoughts???, Team as Family, Touch-Starved, Vomiting, if u cant tell by the tags its tommy centric, no slash!!!!!! not here not on my minecraft server!!, touch-starved tommyinnit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:14:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,629</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29576319</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuglychan/pseuds/fuglychan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Turns out it's really shitty having so much responsibility on your plate as a child. As Tommy struggles to stay ontop of all his work, his angst starts to spiral, and before he knows it, he's the sickest he's ever been.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Wilbur Soot &amp; Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>check on your friends [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2177613</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>964</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>WARNING: vomiting (it's a sickfic but just soU KnoW), UHH TEen angst? not suicidal thoughts but like def super angst sooooo</p><p>also i wrote this at an ungodly hour when i should be doing homework bc i have work in the morning but i wrote this shit instead so please like it</p><p>(pls be gentle in the comments i am fragile)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It wasn’t something of a spur of the moment. Someone had brought it up originally - whoever it was, no one could really remember. It was probably clipped somewhere on the internet, but it didn’t really matter. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Someone had suggested moving in together. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’d been a joke, originally, and everyone had laughed. Though, the more and more they all thought about it, the more appealing the idea became. It was a little impractical, and as Phil had pointed out, Tommy was still 16. It’d be a real strange mix of a streamer house with the oldest being 32 and the youngest being 16. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The others had dismissed it, but Tommy had hung onto it. It was a nice dream. His mom and dad were great, but he’s going through that age where everything is a little more difficult than it needs to be. His relationship with them can be complicated at times, and it’s a little stressful. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So when Techno announces he’s moving to the UK, everyone collectively loses their shit. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, I’m still looking for a roommate,” he had said. “But, yeah, hopefully in a couple of months, I’ll be living in Brighton.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That would be so cool!” Wilbur had said. “Though, are you sure you want to be in the same country as Tommy?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck off, Wilbur,” Tommy had yelled back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We should all meet up!” George had suggested. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Tommy mumbled, biting his lip. “I’m not so sure about that one.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And it was forgotten. Moved on to another bit. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But once the thought comes, it stays. It eats away at him. It’s a nice dream, but that’s all it is. Nothing more. At least he has something to hold on to. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When the bad days come, the bad days hit hard. Tommy will wake up, get yelled at for not getting up, not doing homework, not doing chores. On bad days he forgets what it was like to not feel this way. He can’t remember the last time he woke up and it was good. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Things were ought to get better. They should’ve; that’s what they always say. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But it didn’t. Not really, not at all. They got worse. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The kids at school didn’t help. They either didn’t really care or they hated him. Some of them were physical about it, but he did his best to stay clear of them. Nowadays most kids won’t punch you. Mostly because it hurts so much more to leave hate comments on their latest post. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t really anything new - the hate comments. He could deal with it, really. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Some days it was just a kick when he was already down. Things were really bad. He struggled to do work, struggled to stream, struggled to exist. He barely had time to shower, to eat, to properly take care of himself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was like he was drowning, and nobody was paying attention. The isolation in his misery was overpowering, and he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it. Not to his parents, not to his friends, not even to his online friends. He was just… alone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And there wasn’t anything he could do about it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It started as a head thing. Tired, lethargic. Couldn’t move as easily as he used to. He felt empty, a little more distant from the world than he used to be. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then the sickness came, and it never let up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy had woken that morning with a head spinning, and he was flying out of bed to grab the rims of the waste basket in his room. His stomach lurched, and he fought rapidly to breathe. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t until a couple minutes later he realized his phone was ringing. “Hello?” he asked, sighing as he wiped his mouth. He slumped against the side of the bed, barely able to keep his eyes open. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tommy!” Wilbur greeted. “I’m outside. Are you ready?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy blinked. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>… </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Toms?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck, hold on,” he said, muting the call to lean over into the basket. He emptied out the remnants of what he had for dinner last night. Unmuting himself, he rasped out a frantic, “I’ll be out in a second!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’d totally forgot. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Like, no, he hadn’t forgotten he was meeting his friends today, not completely, but the days blurred together, and it had… temporarily slipped his mind. He grabbed his backpack and hurried out the door. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I called you like four times,” Wilbur said when he climbed into the car. “Did you just wake up?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I slept through my alarms.” He unzipped his backpack and searched through it. “Have you got a coke?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur side-eyed him in the mirror. “I’m sure Phil stocked the house for your arrival.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“God, I hope so,” he said, leaning against the door. “I’m so thirsty.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and Wilbur stole another glance, eyes shifting from the clear roads to the mess of a child in his passenger seat. “Don’t you sleep, like, 12 hours a night?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy stirred at that, shooting up in his seat. “I sure do,” he said, voice rising as he looked straight ahead. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>… </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yeah, there was something wrong, but Wilbur just shrugged it off for the time being. When they reached the house, everyone was in the kitchen. “Hello!” Wilbur called. “We’re-- You fuckers didn’t even wait.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno, mouthful of pizza, scowled at the two stumbling in the door. “It was gonna get cold,” he said simply, gulping it down. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur rolled his eyes. “Have you no decency, Technoblade?” Tommy said, sliding into the kitchen to snatch a slice out of the box. “And you too, Philza Minecraft?” He put the pizza over his heart. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, shut it,” Wilbur said, clapping him upside the head. “You were the one who slept past 12.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not twelve,” he snorted, opening his phone. “Oh. Oh shit.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A weird time to order a pizza,” Phil added, opening the fridge. “Does anyone need anything?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy came peering around the corner. “You got a coke, big man?” Phil jumped slightly at the boy suddenly appearing out of nowhere. He poked his head under his arm and searched the fridge. He found what he was looking for and snatched it. Gulping about half of it, he exhaled, only looking up when he noticed Phil was staring at him. Unsure of why he was looking at him, he held out the can. “Would you like some?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Phil didn’t crack a smile. “Are you okay, Tommy?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy stood up straighter. “Would be better if the pizza wasn’t cold,” he said, dropping his slice on the plate. Wilbur chastised him for it, shifting the blame back on him as they got into an argument. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Phil couldn’t take his eyes off the boy. More specifically, he couldn’t look away from the faded black and blue bruises peeking out of his collar. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They were settled on the couch a few hours later. They’d finished the second round of Mario Party, and they took a break to pick a movie. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyone need anything from the kitchen?” Techno asked, rising from his chair. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Coke!” Tommy said, leaning over the side of the couch. Phil eyed his plate with the same slice of pizza from earlier. He’d barely touched it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno returned a second later, shoving a can into his hand before falling into his seat with a bag of popcorn in his hands. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You can heat up the slice if you want,” Phil had offered, when he wasn’t able to keep it in any longer. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy, distracted, looked up. “Huh?” He looked down at the plate. “Oh, I just wasn’t very hungry.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Didn’t he wake up late? Shouldn’t he be about four slices in by now? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Phil didn’t believe it - not for a second. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t pick a shit movie, Wilbur,” Tommy said, reaching for the remote. “Let’s watch something good. A horror! Let’s watch a horror.” He thought for a minute. No, he really isn’t in the right place to handle a horror film. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He almost took it back when Phil countered with, “Are you sure you could handle that, Tommy?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn’t even been joking when he said it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur howled, sitting up straighter. “Holy shit,” he wheezed, shoving Techno as he sat up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey!” Tommy barked. “The hell is that supposed to mean?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Phil covered his mouth. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, moving his hand to reveal a small grin. “It’s just… you’re not really old enough to watch a rated R movie…” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck off!” Tommy boomed, climbing over to snatch the remote. “Horror movie it is, bitch.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure you can handle that, big man?” Techno joked. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, that’s it.” He played the movie and leaned back into the couch. “It’s settled then, boys.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur sucked in a deep breath. “I think we should watch something else.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What, you chicken?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur blinked. “No. Play it.” Whatever argument he was about to say, he gave up on and leaned back into the couch. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They weren’t even halfway through the movie and Tommy felt insanely ill. This had been a really, really bad idea. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was feeling like shit before this, and putting himself through this hell just made his pain even worse. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At some point Kristen had walked in, saying something to Phil before saying, “Well, it’s not a proper horror film if you watch it with the lights on.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then it got worse. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A little while after that Tommy had begun to shake. His head was swimming, and he couldn’t even relax. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then he spotted Wilbur, who was cozy under his blanket. His feet were propped up on the table, and he was sipping a water bottle. Wilbur caught his staring and turned his head. “What do you want?” He spoke quietly to not bother the others. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re hogging the blanket.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>house,” he said, raising an eyebrow at the angry look Tommy sent him. “Are you really that cold? You’re in sweats.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s freezing in here,” he said, which wasn’t entirely a lie. “Gimme the blanket.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shh!” Techno hissed suddenly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They fell silent for a moment. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Give me the damn blanket, Wilbur.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Phil sighed suddenly, pausing the movie. “Why don’t you just share?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy retracted to his side of the couch. “Hell no, I’m not on that pussy shit.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur gave him an incredulous look, but Tommy finally dropped it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He watched the boy curl within himself before wrapping an arm around him and tugging him close. Tommy fought him, pushing him away, but when Wilbur tossed the blanket over him, he stopped. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was just so warm that Tommy couldn’t bring himself to pull away. He buried his fists into the blanket and tried to tug it away. The warmth was overwhelming and embarrassing, and he hated it. He wanted to get away but he never wanted to leave. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop hogging it,” Wilbur ordered, but his voice was gentle. He pulled Tommy closer, watching as the teenager slumped against him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy was silent, shaking too much for a man in full sweats. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Next to him, Wilbur could feel the full body shudder at every jumpscare. He was constantly shaking, but there were points where it got worse. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tommy, are you scared?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno looked up. Phil dropped his phone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” He was shaking so hard. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m kinda bored of this movie,” Wil announced suddenly, and Tommy shoved his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re watching it.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows as if to say: </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m trying to help you, idiot. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy was being more of a nuisance than usual, and it was pissing him off. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to be that upset at how </span>
  <em>
    <span>pitiful </span>
  </em>
  <span>he looked. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was forcing himself to stare at the movie, but he’d stare off into space, distracting himself with thoughts that obviously were not much better. He was sweating and shivering, and he hadn’t touched any of his food. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was so sick that it was painfully obvious. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur sighed softly, tightening his arm around Tommy, bringing him closer against his side. When Tommy started to stir, he was silent, simply moving his hand to rub circles into his back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy had melted into it so fast that it was pathetic. His eyelids drooped heavily, and he straightened his back, head falling against his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy was obviously young - a fact he sometimes forgot about when they played together. Witnessing him in real life just made his heart ache. He was so small, and he was overcame with the urge to protect him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was a loud jumpscare in the movie, and Tommy, who hadn’t even been paying attention, jolted, but Wilbur comforted him through it. Tommy was gritting his teeth. The welfare was clear on his face. He kept looking like he was so pissed and wanted to leave, but he wouldn’t move. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’d never say it to his face (if he could help it), but he was precious. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When the movie ended, Phil switched out of it so fast. “Is anyone else hungry?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was obvious who the question was aimed at. The subject in question wasn’t really listening. His eyes were halfway closed, and his chest was rising and falling slowly. “Toms?” Wilbur said gently, and he made a soft humming noise. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He blinked a couple times before sitting up straight. When he realized everyone was staring, he huffed and leaned away. “The fuck you looking at?” he slurred, face a dark red. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We were asking if you were hungry!” Wilbur said, leaning in close to his face as the younger barked out a laugh. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He hummed again. “A coke,” he said finally. “I’m kinda thirsty.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What is that, your fourth?” Techno guessed, looking at the pile in front of Tommy. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a bit late for so much caffeine,” Phil said. “How about a juice? Or a water?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A juice?” he exclaimed. “Wilbur, you keep </span>
  <em>
    <span>juiceboxes </span>
  </em>
  <span>in your house?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur ignored him, getting off the couch, and he didn’t miss the split second of grief that spread across Tommy’s face. He covered it up quickly, moving over to pick a fight with Techno. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he turned from the kitchen with a water in hand, Tommy was kneeling on the recliner pointed his vlog gun against Techno’s temple. “Any last worms, bitch?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Pick a good movie,” he said, closing his eyes as Tommy prepared to set off the trigger. Before he could, Techno opened his eyes and caught him offguard. He let out a squeak, obviously still scared from the movie and fell backwards off the seat. “Holy shit, Tommy, you good?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy snatched the vlog gun and sunk back. “You threw me!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He got so startled he fell off the chair,” Techno said, falling into a fit of snickers. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut the hell up!” Tommy barked. “I was thrown. Thrown! In my own home.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t even live here,” Wilbur countered, and it stung. “Here, child, get off the floor.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He tugged him off the floor and motioned for Tommy to sit next to him again. He stared at him, eyes wide as he investigated him. He gave in, huffing slightly as he once again curled back against Wilbur. He grabbed the water bottle off the table and set it in Tommy’s hands. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno picked the show this time - setting up some Netflix original no one was really invested in. They were all exhausted, talking over the show. Tommy chimed in now and then, but when he thought people weren’t looking, he was closing his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur exchanged glances with the others so they got the point. Techno turned down the volume, but when people got quiet, Tommy would stir awake. “I was thinking of cooking something,” Phil said suddenly. “Are you hungry, Tommy?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not really,” he shrugged. At the weird looks shot his way, he cleared his throat. “I don’t want you to poison me.” He was joking, but no one matched his energy. “Geez, tough crowd.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The air in the room was starting to get really uncomfortable. It was suffocating Tommy no matter how much he pulled at the sweater around his neck. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve barely ate anything,” Techno said, scratching the back of his neck. “Are you feeling okay?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He did feel shitty, but he always feel shitty. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So why does he feel like he’s going to burst into tears? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” he managed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They weren’t really getting anywhere with him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Phil got up suddenly, leaving the room. Tommy tried to change the conversation, making some idle comment about the television. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looked so weak, and when he broke into a laugh, a fit of coughing took over him. Tommy was clasping his hands over his mouth and inhaling deeply. Phil, who seemingly saw this coming, quickly placed a trash can in front of the boy, and Tommy latched onto it, dry heaving into the basket. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno didn’t have the stomach for watching people get sick, but that wasn’t the only reason he felt dread running through his body. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looked like death.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur comforted him through it, still rubbing circles into his back because that’s all he could do. Tommy stopped for a moment, raising his head, and mumbled, “Pogchamp” before vomiting again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not poggers,” Wilbur said, nodding solemnly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno got up and left, joining Phil in the kitchen. “Wilbur?” His voice was barely audible. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This is not epic.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur barked out a laugh. “No, it’s not.” Tommy had seemed to stop hurling for the moment. He grabbed his water for him and twisted off the cap. Tommy accepted it with shaky hands. “You can tell me if you’re sick, Tommy.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The basket was taunting him. “You can always trust us,” he said, cupping the side of his face. “You look like shit, dumbass. I wouldn’t have made you come over if you were sick.” Tommy fell apart. “I can go take you home, or call your dad?” There was no missing the widening eyes. “Hey, Toms, what’s wrong?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing, dickhead,” he hissed, trying to recover. He took in a deep breath. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur studied him. “I’ll call your dad,” and as Tommy’s mouth flew open to argue, he interjected, “to ask if you can stay the night.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can text him,” Tommy said stubbornly, pulling out his phone. “You sure it’s alright if I spend the night?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” he said. “It’s getting late, anyways, and I don’t want you throwing up in the car.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy texted his dad and eyed him suspiciously. “Don’t get the wrong impression or anything. I’m still not sick.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, Tommy.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, Tommy.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re pissing me off!” he exclaimed, grabbing at his face. “I said I’m not, so stop looking at me like that!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re so cranky,” he cooed, grabbing his face back, and he fell short. Tommy leaned into it, and he couldn’t help but grin. “And you smell.” Wilbur climbed off the couch. “Do you want to use the shower?” Picking up on his hesitance, he added, “It might help with your throat.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy nodded mutely. He did kinda smell bad. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In the shower, he almost got sick again, falling over in the scalding hot water. He tried to hurry fast, but he kept swaying. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He scrambled out, not sure on how much longer he could stay on his feet. On top of the counter Wilbur had laid out some clothes for him. It was swarming on him, and the sleeves went past his wrists. Sighing softly, he stumbled out of the bathroom. Like he had said, his throat did feel a little better. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you even dry off?” Techno practically screeched. He had changed clothes too. “Tommy, no wonder you’re sick.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop spreading lies,” he said sharply, raising his finger. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Or what?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll shoot you,” he said, and it sounded like a promise. “Is that how you want to go?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I dunno, do you wanna die of a cold?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy shot him a glare, deciding he’s done with this conversation. He’s grumbling under his breath as he stumbles into the kitchen. Wilbur and Phil are sat at the dining table, and he slips into a seat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did it help any?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ignoring what he was hinting at, he replied, “What, wanna sniff me, bitch?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“God no,” Wilbur shivered, laughing lightly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Phil got up from the table and returned with a bowl, setting it in front of Tommy. Before he could protest, he said, “It’s okay if you don’t finish it. Just try and eat a little, okay?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His face was on fire. He couldn’t stand the coddling, and he wanted them to stop looking at him like he was fragile. He took in a shaky breath and tried really hard to calm down. “Okay.” It was practically silent. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He picked up the spoon and got about four bites in. Listening to them talk about things other than himself allowed him to calm down. It was good to be distracted. He’d been able to take a couple more bites before he finally had to put the spoon down. “You did good,” Phil praised, and it made no sense for him to be as happy as he was. “I’ll put the rest up for later.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After eating, he felt a little better, but he couldn’t bite back the nausea rising in his stomach. All of the coddling was fucking with him, and he didn’t know how to handle it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A towel was thrown over his head, and he reeled around, but sure enough, Techno was grabbing his shoulder to keep him still. “Child abuse!” Tommy roared as he gave him a noogie. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dry your damn hair,” he said, scrubbing at his soaking wet hair. Once he was satisfied, he took off the towel to reveal a super pissed Tommy </span>
  <em>
    <span>but </span>
  </em>
  <span>a Tommy with dry-ish hair. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You mother--” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Think I missed a spot,” he said, throwing it back over his head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop it,” he growled, swatting his hand away. “You guys are being really weird today.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re the one being weird, Tommy,” Phil countered. “We’re just worried.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well--” His words got caught in his throat. He was walking away. “Whatever, I’m getting the vlog gun, and the next person to piss me off will suffer the consequences.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy found his way back into the living room, but he looked behind him to make sure someone was gonna follow him. “You can go lay down, if you want.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He glared at Techno. “Where’s the gun, man?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugged. “You’re looking pretty tired there, Tommy.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey!” he barked, grabbing his arms and pushing against him. “Where’s my vlog gun?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He playfully hit him, no force behind it at all, and then in a blur, Techno put a hand underneath him, throwing him over his back. Tommy screeched, suddenly being lifted up in the air. “Techno!” he screeched, gripping onto him for dear life. He caught sight of a tired Phil walking out of the kitchen. “Phil, help!” He reached out a hand. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Phil simply smiled, and Tommy’s stomach dropped. He stopped fighting, laying limp over Techno’s shoulders as he was tossed on top of the bed in what he assumed was Wilbur’s room. “Take a nap, Tommy.” He closed the door behind him, and Tommy blinked in the silence. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His friends were so fucking weird. He wiped at his face. He hated being out there, being fussed over, but sitting alone was unbearable. Being cared about after such a long time of being alone wasn’t easy to handle. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy lied down, anyways, bringing the blanket over his head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned until he gave up and stormed out of the room. “What’re we watching now?” he asked, climbing on top of the couch. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Couldn’t sleep?” Phil asked, and he shook his head no. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy glanced around the flat. “Where’d Wilbur go?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Popped out real quick,” Phil replied, which wasn’t much help. Tommy shrugged, grabbing the same blanket from earlier and wrapping it around himself. “You think you could handle some more food?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m okay,” he managed, looking away. Something was obviously bothering him, and Phil really couldn’t figure it out. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you need another blanket?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy, more frustrated by the minute, huffed out a sigh. “No.” He pulled his knees to his chest. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur came into the house, dropping some bags on the table. He opened up a thermometer and held it up to Tommy. “Can you take your temperature real quick?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he said, scooting away from him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be difficult.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Man, what’s your problem?” He hiccuped suddenly. “You’re invading my personal space.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“For fuck’s sake,” he snarled, grabbing Tommy again, pulling him snug against him in a headlock. He grabbed at his face trying to force the thermometer in. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Easy, Wil!” Phil chastised. “You’re going to stab him.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine.” He dropped it on the table. “At least take some medicine.” He handed the fever reducer to Tommy, and he glared at it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t even need it.” He was never that good of a pill taker. He poured some into his hand before sipping his water. “Don’t look at me.” He sipped some water before tossing the pill in his mouth before sputtering, unable to swallow it down. He coughed weakly, cringing at the powdery taste in his mouth. He took the soggy pill out of his mouth before lifting it up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“God, get a new one!” Wilbur hissed. “That’s disgusting, Tommy.” He coughed, sitting up straighter. On his second try he made it down. Tommy wheezed, suddenly feeling sick again. He wanted it to kick in fast. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur sunk his fingers into his messy locks, dragging his fingers through his hair. Tommy sighed softly, too exhausted to fight. He turned over away from the TV and buried his head into his shoulder. Wilbur pressed a smile against him, adjusting Tommy until he was fully tucked away. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And there he was again, rubbing comforting circles into his back. He was humming softly, and the sounds settled him almost as much as the warm touches. His eyelids grew heavy, and he grabbed ahold of Wilbur’s shirt and stuck his face in it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur looked up in surprise. Tommy’s sudden display of clingy-ness caught him offguard. Phil made a gesture, telling him not to move. Not that he would. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He kept petting him until he felt something wet the front of his short. Scared he was getting sick again, he tugged at him, but Tommy wouldn’t budge. “Toms, you about to be sick again?” He shook his head frantically. He pulled at him sharply, and his heart sank. Tommy’s eyes were filled with tears, just threatening to fall. “Oh, Tommy.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He stiffened at his name, another unsteady hiccup escaping his lips. He tugged the boy further on his lap so he could wrap him in a hug. He tried to stop it, but once he started crying, he just couldn’t stop. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t feel good, Wilby,” he confessed suddenly, sniffling loudly. He was shaking violently. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay, Tommy,” he soothed, rubbing his back, and he let out a harsh sob in response. “Will you let me take your temperature?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded softly, laying his head against his neck as he shook with muffled cries. He slipped the thermometer under his tongue, and it beeped a few seconds later. His face dropped, and Phil was out of his chair and returning with a wet rag. He placed it on top of his forehead, wiping away the sweat building so quickly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You need to take it easy.” Wilbur spoke very quietly, choosing his words carefully so as to not upset him. “Any higher and we’ll have to take you to a hospital.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That bad?” techno mouthed, and Phil bit his lip. How had no one noticed? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>How long had he been hiding it to get this bad? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy mumbled something, and Wilbur rocked him slightly. “Shh,” he hushed, unable to understand the incoherent mess. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“‘M sorry,” he apologized again, and Wilbur hushed him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay, Tommy,” he consoled. “It’s okay, buddy.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He dug his nails in deeper. “I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, and after a couple minutes of rubbing his back, the boy went limp against his shoulder. Even in his sleep, Tommy kept his nails dug into Wilbur, never showing a sign of easing up anytime soon.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 4 morant</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>more warnings! light angst + vomiting</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy only stayed asleep peacefully for a short while. After an hour of chilling on the couch, he started to make small noises, and even as he comforted him, he let out muffled cries. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shh.” Everyone else was dozing off in the living room, and thank god because he didn’t want to be caught. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He cleared his voice before singing the only lullaby he knew. It wasn’t even a lullaby, really, just a song he heard from a cartoon somewhere. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was honestly a shot in the dark, but eventually, Tommy stopped shaking. “There you go,” he praised, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What the fuck was he doing? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur pinched the bridge of his nose. Being around Tommy was making him feel so protective, and he was only 24! He blushed, thanking the heavens everyone was asle-- Oh god. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno was grinning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur made a gesture, dragging his finger across his throat, and Techno laughed silently. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off,” he mouthed, and Techno grinned, turning back in the chair before drifting off to sleep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil was the next to wake up. He checked his phone, cringing at the time. Still, he didn’t want to go back to his and Kristen’s room, not with the vulnerable kid curled up on the couch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was leaning on Wilbur, and he in return was resting his head on top of his. They were cuddling in their sleep, but Tommy’s grip on him looked barbaric. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Tommy started to make noises, he got off the couch and gently woke him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” he whispered. Tommy’s blue eyes fluttered open before falling shut. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then flying open as he shoved himself further, reaching for his basket. He retched, curling over his stomach and inhaling rapidly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil comforted him through it until he was done. He stopped vomiting, but his breath was erratic and his face was red. Phil mumbled something under his breath before slipping a hand under his knees and behind his back. He hoisted him off the ground and carried him into the kitchen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He slumped over in the chair as Phil prepared for him some water and another pill. The kitchen was quiet aside from the muffled sniffles and Phil rummaging around the cabinet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he apologized, dropping his head when Phil joined him at the table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“For what, Tommy?” His chest tightened. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He bit his lip and turned away. Something was obviously bothering him, but he clearly was too tired to unpack it. “Thank you,” he settled for instead. His face was burning darker, and he couldn’t tell if the fever was worsening or if he was embarrassed. Probably a mix of both, he supposes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course.” He ruffled his hair and placed his hand against his forehead. “Can I take your temperature again?” He nodded, letting Phil clean it off before slipping it under his tongue. He let out a low whistle. “It’s dropping. You’re doing better, Tommy.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hearing Phil say that visibly relaxed him. Tommy’s shoulders dropped, and he managed a smile. “Thanks, Dadza.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m only 32.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And twice my age,” Tommy added, voice a little hoarse. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he said, standing up. “We should get you to bed.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy nodded, agreeing. He started to stand up, but Phil was already scooping him up into his arms. “Phil!” he hissed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shh,” he sang, “The others are sleeping.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy huffed, dropping his head against Phil as he carried him through the halls. He gently set him down on the bed and set a bottle and a basket at his bedside. “If you need anything, you come and get me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s vision swirled, and under the blankets, he was passed out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>3:45 a.m. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno had sat up in a sweat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur was spread out on the couch, hand dropping off the side. Phil was gone, and so was Tommy. He got up, peered into the kitchen. They must’ve gone to bed. Smart. He probably should’ve too instead of sleeping in that uncomfortable bed. He started down the hallway for his guest room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d pulled up his blankets and started checking his phone for a quick second when he noticed a figure in his doorway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>7:00 am. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil was the first to wake up. He didn’t want to get out of bed, but he had the nagging urge to go check on Tommy. He rubbed at his face, stopping in the living room to take in Wilbur, who was halfway on the floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d have to come back to that one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He continued down the hall, peering into the guest room, but Tommy was nowhere in sight. Heart racing, he went to go knock on the bathroom door, but he got no answer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh shit. Oh shit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mind was racing - a million bad thoughts running through his mind. Could he have passed out somewhere? Maybe ran for it? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe he got his dad to take him home? No, it was almost 3 am. What if he’s-- </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He swung the door open to go ask Techno, and he went still. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy was curled up against him, sleeping soundly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighed out of relief. He was safe and sound, hiding under the covers - just a mess of blond curls peeking out of the comforter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turned around and set for the kitchen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno was the next to wake up, and he startled at Tommy. He had his arm wrapped around him, and he quickly retracted it. When had he…? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh, yeah. He can just barely remember Tommy stumbling into his room at an ungodly hour, rubbing his eyes, and asking if he can sleep in his bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy stirred in his sleep, blinking slowly before fully waking up. “Hi.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sat up quickly, hands flying to cover his mouth. “I am so sorry.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno snickered. “It’s okay, Tommy.” He was flushed. “I always knew I was your favorite older brother.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“To hell with that!” he yelled, turning away from him and moving to leave, falling out of the bed and crashing into the ground with a loud thud. Techno sat up and peered off the bed and had a worried smile across his face. “Your room was closest!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stormed out, wobbling with every step. Techno chased after him into the living room, and Phil popped out of the kitchen to eye them cautiously. “Wilbur’s still sleeping,” he said, putting a finger over his lips. Tommy softened, storming into the kitchen where Phil was cooking. “Sleep well?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it was fine,” he said, shooting a harsh glare at Techno when he opened his mouth. “If you say anything,” he whispered to Techno, “I’ll kill you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He just smiled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur stirred in his sleep - probably woken from the smell of the fresh bacon. He sat up in a hurry. “Where is--?” He put a hand on his back. Ouch. “Fuck, I can’t believe I fell asleep on the couch.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“More like slept on the floor, mate,” Phil said, pushing a plate into his hands. He grabbed his own plate and settled into his chair. Tommy and Techno emerged from the kitchen a short while later, whispering harshly to one another the whole time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You snore, Wilbur,” Tommy said, snickering as he settled back into the couch next to Wilbur. Techno sat on his other side. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You sleep cuddle,” Phil said, and Tommy’s face flushed a dark red. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno burst out laughing, covering his stomach as he leaned forward. “Oh shit! Oh shit!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How did you--?” Tommy stopped. “I do not! I don’t! Shut the fuck up!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I went looking for him last night, and I found him snuggling Techno.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur cooed, “Aw, Clingyinnit.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s Tubbo,” he spat. “Not me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You were last night,” Techno sang, and he pushed him, jostling the mug of coffee in his hands. “I wasn’t the one who ratted you out! If you’re gonna be mad, be mad at Phil.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy stood up. “Oh, Philza Minecraft,” he snarled, pulling his vlog gun out from under the couch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t,” he said softly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy raised it up, aiming at him carefully. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sit the fuck down,” Wilbur chastised, grabbing him by the back of his shirt and tugging him down on the couch. “He cooked for us.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Phil,” he said, grabbing his plate again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” he said, watching Tommy like a hawk as he scooped up some eggs into a spoon, hesitated, and bit down on it before smiling. “Just… eat up.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno had control of the remote and was absent-mindedly flipping through the movie titles. He scoffed slightly, exiting the application and starting up DisneyPlus. “Disney?” Tommy asked, gulping down on his spoon loudly. “Why don’t we play something?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mario party?” Techno suggested, and Wilbur grinned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You will all eat shit,” he declared, and Phil went to set it up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They weren’t even halfway through the game when Tommy stopped playing. “Tommy, are you gonna ready up--” He was slouched over, hand clasped over his mouth. “Oh, Tommy,” he sighed, reaching an arm around him. “Just let it out, buddy.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil was already pushing him the trash can, and Tommy let out a horrifying yelp, cringing as he emptied out the eggs into the basket. When he rose up again, he was a mess. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur tangled his fingers into Tommy’s messy curls, and he relaxed slightly, boneless against him. He jolted, sitting up and leaning over the trash can, but nothing came out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Watching Tommy suffer so much just made his heart ache. Once he wasn’t hurled over the trash can, Phil said, “I’ll call your dad and let him know--” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy sat up straight so quickly he knocked Wilbur off guard. “No,” he mumbled, eyes widening dramatically. “I…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tommy, what’s wrong?” Techno was ignored. Tommy shook his head and brought his knees closer to his chest. “Why don’t you want us to call your dad?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He covered his mouth, but it wasn’t to hold in any bile this time. His eyes teared up, and Wilbur caught him in a hug. “I don’t wanna go,” he mumbled, voice barely audible. “Please.” He hung onto him for dear life. “Wilby, I wanna stay with you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was so delirious. There was no way a normal Tommy, a sick Tommy for that matter would say that. Phil kneeled in front of him with a thermometer, quickly taking his temperature before scowling. “We need to at least let him know you’re not feeling alright,” Phil said gently, cupping his cheek. “You’re sick, and your father would want to know. It’d be irresponsible for us to not say anything.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy hiccuped and nodded. “Jus--” His voice broke off with a cough. “I don’t wan’ go,” he mumbled, burying himself against Wilbur again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil was on the phone, having a hushed conversation in the corner. When he returned, his eyebrows were furrowed together. “How long have you been feeling bad?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy scrunched his nose. He really couldn’t remember. Time really blurred together at times. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he didn’t answer, Techno nudged him gently. “Toms?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he said simply, head rolling to the side. “I dunno…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When’s the last time he didn’t feel like shit? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil wet a cloth and placed it against his forehead. “Lay down,” he instructed, and Tommy obeyed, letting Wilbur help guide his head against the couch. He reached out, snatching him by the hem of his shirt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They kept eye contact silently - Wilbur fighting to understand what Tommy needed. He managed a wry smile and lifted his head up, holding it on his lap. “It’s okay, Tommy,” he muttered. “Everything’s gonna be alright.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>might make this a series tbh,,, also this fic is highly self indulgent haha (im a sucker for hurt tommy + overprotective! sbi soooooo) </p><p>pls leave a comment or kudos if u enjoyed! y'alls support means the world 2 me! ((also fic reccomendations----))</p><p>stay safe y'all!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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